


Scratching An Itch

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chronic Pain, Competition, Drinking, Horses, Injury Recovery, Jealousy, M/M, Painkillers, Rivalry, Scars, Sexual Content, show jumping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 23:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Porthos was a professional show jumper until an accident put him out of the sport, and his place on the team was taken by Athos. Now working at the stables as a groom, Porthos can't quite decide if he hates him or fancies him - but events may be about to conspire to bring them together. </p><p>(Written for a prompt of "Porthos sees Athos lying in a field and panics thinking he's fallen off Roger. Really he's having a snooze.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratching An Itch

Porthos leaned on the railing and watched the horse currently being taken over the jumps. It was a taxing course, but both rider and horse made it look easy, sailing over the highest bars seemingly without effort. He'd have been lying if he said there wasn't a certain sliver of jealousy mixed in with the professional pride he felt watching them, but it was balanced by an equally guiltily suppressed edge of desire.

Having completed a faultless round, horse and rider made for the gate and he swung it open for them.

A nod of thanks was all he got as they clattered past, and Porthos followed slowly towards the stable block. 

Slowly was about all he could manage these days, since the accident. He'd been near the top of his field in the sport, until a nasty fall had ended up with him shattering both legs and spending months in hospital. Since then, he'd made as full a recovery as he ever would, but it left him with pain if he stood for too long. Show jumping was out of the question, even if the enforced months of inactivity hadn't seen him put on far too much weight to be a contender.

He'd struggled with depression, and it hadn't been helped by his partner walking out on him, unable to cope with his moods. Porthos suspected it had more to do with the fact he wasn’t as - active - as he used to be. He told people he didn’t care.

Now, he watched the rider dismount, the same mingled jealousy and attraction warring in his chest. Jealousy, because he couldn't do this any more. Attraction because - well look at the man. Handsome without being ostentatiously so, an interesting face with a shade of arrogance. Neat little waist, hips begging to be grabbed and ridden like a thoroughbred. Gorgeous hands, with long fingers that held the reins with a relaxed mastery. They'd look good round his cock. In fact, so would his lips. Or his arse, for that matter, Porthos thought, being deliberately lewd to stave off his feelings of inadequacy.

He'd taken Porthos' place on the team. When Porthos had come back, a position held for him as one of the stable team rather than a rider, the man had already been in residence. 

Olivier 'call me Athos' de la fucking Fère. And his fucking perfect horse, which had an even longer and more stupid name than he did. Porthos, in a fit of bad temper when they'd been introduced, had declared he couldn't pronounce it and was going to damn well call it Roger. 

He'd hoped to make the man angry, hoped to goad him into a display of unseemly behaviour in front of his new team mates - Porthos' friends, at least they had been. But Athos had merely shrugged, as if it was a matter of supreme indifference to him. And there the matter should have ended, except Athos had started referring to the bloody creature as Roger himself, and every time he did it Porthos felt a stab of shame at the way he'd behaved.

"Do you want me to do that?" Porthos offered, as Athos lead the horse into his stall and started rubbing him down.

Athos looked up as if surprised to see him there. "Oh. No, thank you. I'm fine."

Porthos wanted to be indignant, wanted to challenge him, ask if he thought he wouldn't do it right. But he knew he'd be being unfair, he'd watched Athos turn down help from the other grooms before, knew it was rooted in affection and regard for his horse rather than any lack of trust in his colleagues.

It was just a shame it came across as a shade cold and arrogant. Porthos knew that Athos wasn't universally liked, that there were those who found him distant and stand-offish. Porthos, who'd spent almost a year snapping at people and being unable to explain why, felt like giving Athos the benefit of the doubt. Plus, there was the whole wanting to fuck him rigid thing.

Porthos realised he was staring at the curve of Athos' arse as he bent over, one of Roger's hooves between his knees. Jodhpurs really were a fucking godsend to the casual pervert, Porthos thought, mentally ordering his dick to behave. That was the downside. They were also embarrassingly incriminating.

"Well you can help me," came a voice from the other side of the stable. "If you can tear yourself away from the view."

Porthos stamped into the end stall and glared at the man combing out his horse's tail.

"Do you mind?" he hissed. "He'll hear you."

"But he'll pretend he hasn't," Aramis grinned, chucking him the comb and moving up to work on the mane. "We're all far too far beneath him." 

"You're too hard on him."

"Not as hard as you'd like to be," Aramis said with a smirk, albeit in a lower voice in deference to Porthos' sensibilities. "Anyway, you've changed your tune, I thought you hated him because he pinched your place."

Porthos sighed. "I lost my place, it wasn't his fault they offered it to him."

Aramis eyed him silently. He'd joined the team at the same time as Porthos nearly five years ago, and they'd been close friends ever since - but he wasn't convinced that Porthos coming back here had been the right thing for him to do. Having to spend every day watching people do what he couldn't any more - it had to hurt, and Aramis was worried it would gradually turn into resentment.

"Fancy a drink later?" Aramis offered. He also worried that Porthos was bottling a lot up since Charon had left.

"Nah. I've got a good evening's moping in front of the telly lined up." Porthos smiled at him. "Seriously, thanks, but I think I'm going to have an early night."

"Well. As long as you're sure. Give me a shout if you change your mind, eh?" Aramis frowned at him, but Porthos was absorbed in his work and didn't look up.

\--

The next morning the whole team was gathered in the barn by Treville, the team trainer, to discuss details for an upcoming event. Aramis, Athos and Constance would be competing, but there was a host of logistical details to sort out, including travel, overnight accommodation and support staff.

"Fleur, you'll accompany us," declared Treville, nodding at one of the grooms. "And Jacques." He waved his pencil at a boy who'd only been on the team a couple of months, who promptly high-fived Fleur in excitement.

"Just the two?" ventured Porthos, when Treville looked like moving on to other matters.

"It's only a one day event, that should be plenty," Treville told him. "No need for you to come, it's a long drive, it would be tiring for you." He meant to be kind, but Porthos felt his face fall. Apparently he was too broken to even be of use to his team mates, and he felt more than ever that he'd only been given this job out of pity. But then Athos spoke up.

"Well, I think he should come. I can’t be expected to manage everything myself, it's an important event. And with all due respect, two children are going to find it hard getting three horses ready." He spoke in a slow drawl, as if disinterested in the outcome either way, and behind him Fleur stuck her tongue out at him.

But Porthos waited with bated breath for Treville's response.

"Well - I suppose in that case." Treville looked dubious, clearly thinking like the rest that up to now Athos had been reluctant to let anyone else see to his horse anyway. "Porthos, it's up to you. If you don't feel you could manage it?"

Porthos shook his head quickly. "I'd be happy to come. Really. I'll be fine."

"Well that's settled then. We leave tomorrow morning, six am sharp. Don't be late."

As the meeting broke up Porthos looked around for Aramis, hoping he would share his excitement, but to his surprise Aramis was glaring at Athos with a face like thunder, and when he walked out, Aramis ran after him, clearly intending to confront him about something. Frowning, Porthos followed them.

\--

"You selfish bastard."

Athos turned to find Aramis standing in the doorway to the stable, glaring at him.

"Do you have a particular reason for labelling me so, or is it my mere existence that vexes you this morning?" Athos asked without interest, walking over to Roger's stall and rubbing his nose. Aramis followed him.

"Porthos. You know he gets tired easily, you know he still has chronic pain. And thanks to you he now has to sit in a fucking minibus for hours and see to your whims when he gets there!"

Athos looked at him calmly. "You didn’t see his face, then?"

"What?" Aramis looked confused, and Athos turned back to the horse. 

"When Treville told him he wasn’t coming. He looked like a child who'd been told Christmas had been cancelled. I just thought - if he wants to come, then why not." 

"Because he's not strong enough yet! Are you not listening to me?" 

"There won't actually be much for him to do, I can see to Roger, I do anyway. And Fleur and Jacques can see to you and Constance. He can rest as much as he needs to."

A noise in the doorway made them look round, and both were startled to find Porthos watching them.

"Well, fuck both of you," he said in a rather shaky voice. "I am not a fucking cripple," he declared, pointing at Aramis. "And you - " he pointed at Athos. "I don’t need fucking charity, you patronising cunt."

He marched off, seething and humiliated. 

\--

Porthos spent the rest of the day keeping out of their way, finding tasks to occupy himself that kept him out of the main buildings. At one point he ran into Fleur, who told him Aramis was looking for him, but he stayed where he was.

At three o'clock he packed up and left. He'd spent hours wondering whether to tell Treville he wasn’t coming after all, but in the end had kept quiet. Even if he was surplus to requirements he'd enjoy it when he was there, more so than being left behind.

Driving down the lane from the stables, some way before reaching the main road Porthos caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and slowed down a little to look. In a field, saddled and bridled but wandering about on his own, was Roger.

Porthos frowned and reversed up the lane a little way until he could pull into the field gate. He got out and scanned the field, wondering where Athos was that he'd left his horse to his own devices, hoping he didn’t catch him in the act of having a piss in the hedge.

To his alarm, he caught sight of a body lying in the grass under the trees on the far side of the field. 

"Shit!" Porthos climbed over the gate and started across the field as fast as he could manage. He wasn’t quite up to running, but he made respectable progress even though by the time he was there his legs were protesting in agony.

"Athos! Athos?" He sank down to the grass beside the man's unmoving body and reached out to touch his shoulder.

Athos' eyes flew open at the contact, and he jumped to find Porthos looming over him. "Fuck!" 

Porthos started back, having assumed he was unconscious, and they stared at each other in alarm and confusion.

"What's wrong?" Athos asked.

"What's _wrong_?" Porthos stared at him. "I thought you'd fucking fallen off."

"Me?" Athos sat up, looking indignant. 

"What was I supposed to think?" Porthos demanded. "You're lying in a field!"

"I was having a nap," Athos said with affected dignity, then looked rather embarrassed. "Didn’t realise I was visible from the road." He looked over at Porthos' car parked beyond the gate, and realised for the first time Porthos was struggling for breath. "Were you worried about me?" he asked in rather guilty surprise.

Porthos slumped over his knees with a groan. "I thought you'd come off," he sighed. "I thought you were in trouble."

Athos looked at him consideringly. "After this morning I wouldn't have blamed you for driving straight past."

Porthos gave a tired laugh. "After what happened to me I'm hardly going to ignore a potential accident," he said. "Even if the alleged victim is a patronising wanker."

Athos smiled slightly at that. "What did happen to you?" he asked. "I mean - I know you were in an accident, but I don’t know the details."

It was a while before Porthos answered. He pulled up a handful of grass and shredded it between his fingers as he spoke.

"I was riding on the road. Car came round a blind corner, much too fast. Swerved to avoid us, but my horse shied into its path." He ripped up more grass. "Car hit us. I hit the road, horse landed on me. Bang. Weeks in hospital, months of therapy."

"The horse?" said Athos quietly. Porthos shook his head. 

"I'm sorry." Athos laid a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "It must have been so hard for you. Especially to come back and find me here."

Porthos shrugged, suddenly fighting back tears. He hadn't talked much, about what had happened to him. "I knew I'd never be riding competitively again." He sighed. "I just wanted to get back to work, forget it ever happened."

"Difficult," Athos murmured. "I think you're incredibly brave."

Porthos looked round at him sharply, but there was no trace of condescension in his voice. "Brave?"

"I've seen you riding. I'm not sure I'd want to get up on a horse again after something like that."

"It's in my blood. I can’t help it. If I can't compete it's enough to be around them." Porthos gave him a watery smile. "I know Aramis thinks I'm nuts. He doesn’t get it."

Athos smiled back at him. "Will you still come? Tomorrow, I mean?"

"If you'll let me help. Properly," Porthos said. "No token efforts."

Athos nodded. "Alright. On the condition that if you need to rest, you do. No heroics."

Porthos nodded, and they shook hands. 

"So, are you in the habit of taking al fresco naps in the middle of the afternoon?" Porthos asked, as they walked together slowly back towards his car, Roger following them a short distance behind.

Athos looked embarrassed. "I may have had one or two glasses of wine too many with my lunch. I was sleeping it off." He sighed. "Or, that might have _been_ my lunch, actually."

"Don't let Treville catch you boozing it up," Porthos grinned. "He thinks the body is a temple, if you're one of his riders."

"Then I was providing libations accordingly," Athos said. They reached the gate and he opened it for Porthos to slip out. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Porthos nodded to him. "And - thanks."

"Well, thank you for coming to my rescue," Athos smiled. "I'm sorry if I scared you. And - I'm sorry if I insulted you this morning."

Porthos shook his head. "You were trying to do me a favour. I know that. I'm just a bit stupidly touchy sometimes."

"Aren't we all?" Athos swung himself up into the saddle. With a wave to Porthos, he turned and was soon cantering away across the field. Porthos watched them out of sight.

\--

The next day was long and taxing, and by the time they'd arrived at the venue, sorted out the paperwork, sat through interminable briefings and seen to the horses, Porthos was fit to drop. 

Reaching his hotel room, he rifled through his sponge bag with increasing anxiety, before coming to the inescapable conclusion that he'd forgotten to pack his painkillers. 

"Oh for fuck's sake." He distinctly remembered having them in his hand. He'd taken them out of the bathroom cabinet. But he couldn't picture himself then putting them in the bag, he must have put them down somewhere in between and got distracted.

Porthos groaned. His legs and back were aching, and without pain relief he'd have a miserable night's sleep, if he managed any at all. There was only one thing for it, he knew Aramis carried them at all times for migraines, he'd have to go and beg some off him. It would mean sitting through an 'I told you so' lecture, but it would be better than spending the night in agony.

He shuffled out into the corridor and knocked on the door opposite. After a second, to Porthos' surprise, it was opened not by Aramis, but Athos.

"Porthos! Hello." Athos looked just as surprised to see him. "Everything alright?" He was holding a glass of red wine, and his shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and it took Porthos a second or two to form a response.

"I - sorry, I was looking for Aramis."

"Oh." Athos looked unaccountably disappointed. "He's next door."

"Oh, right. Sorry, wrong door." Porthos was about to move away when Athos reached out and caught his arm.

"Er - I think he's got someone with him. A lady." Athos cleared his throat and looked pained. "Very thin walls," he mouthed.

Porthos sighed. Aramis had a libido like a randy goat, and he'd been showing entirely too much interest in the female stewards that had shown them round the arena.

"Everything okay?" Athos asked. "Anything I can do?"

"Don't suppose you've got any painkillers have you?" Porthos asked. "I've managed to leave mine at home."

"Oh Porthos." Athos looked briefly stricken. "Yes, of course, come in."

Porthos followed him into the room, and was quickly handed a blister pack of pills and a glass of water.

"Thank you." He swallowed two with relief and offered the pack back to Athos, who shook his head.

"Keep them." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. This is my fault."

"No it isn't," Porthos objected. "I need them anyway. And besides, I'd be far more miserable stuck at home on my own thinking of you lot having fun without me."

Athos waved the wine bottle at him. "Would you like a drink?"

"With painkillers?"

"Kill or cure," Athos smiled, and Porthos laughed.

"Go on then."

Athos poured him a glass and came over. "Make yourself comfortable. Lie down if you want?"

Porthos hesitated. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all." 

Porthos toed off his shoes and settled cautiously on Athos' bed, propped up against the headboard. It was a relief to take the weight off his feet and he sighed.

Athos came and sat next to him, and handed Porthos his wine. "There you go."

"Thanks." Porthos smiled at him. "Excited about tomorrow?"

Athos raised an eyebrow, as if the idea of actually getting excited about something was far too undignified to be considered.

"I'm looking forward to it," he conceded with a smile.

"You'll win," said Porthos confidently, sipping his wine. It was strong, and good quality.

Athos looked surprised. "Well. Hopefully." He actually blushed slightly. "Thank you for your confidence. Aramis might though?"

Porthos shook his head. "You're better than him. You're better than anyone I've ever seen."

"Don't let Aramis hear you talk like that," Athos said, amused. "He already hates me."

Porthos laughed. "No he doesn't." 

"He does. He misses you as his team mate."

"He could always beat me, that's why. Now you've come along, suddenly he's second fiddle."

Athos frowned. "That might be what he's got against me, but I don't believe for a moment it's why he misses you." 

"He thinks I should give up," Porthos said gloomily. "I know he thinks he's got my best interests at heart, but he doesn't see how it hurts when he keeps telling me I should go and do something else." He stared into his glass, a little embarrassed at having opened up like this.

Into the brief silence came a sudden muffled thumping noise from the next room, and the unmistakeable sounds of passion.

"Oh God," Athos muttered. "He's going again."

Porthos snorted with laughter at the image of Athos having had to sit through this once already. No wonder he'd been drinking. "At least one of us is getting some."

Athos looked sideways at him. "Nobody waiting at home for you?"

Porthos shook his head. "My partner left me a few months back. Said they couldn't handle my moods," he sighed.

"If he couldn't handle you at your worst, he doesn't deserve you at your best," Athos said, raising his glass in an ironic toast, but Porthos was looking at him cagily.

"I didn't say it was a he."

"You didn't say it was a she either, and people normally do, if it is," Athos pointed out.

"Detective now, are we?"

"No." Athos studied his hands. "But I am gay. So - you don't need to be careful of your pronouns. Not with me." He glanced sideways and gave Porthos a slight smile.

"Right." Porthos was surprised, and then wasn't sure why. He wanted to ask if Athos was seeing anyone, but was worried it would sound too much like a come on. 

He knew Athos lived alone because he had an apartment at the stables, but Porthos had no idea what he did or who he saw in his downtime.

Porthos yawned. The long day, coupled with the wine and painkillers was making him drowsy, and he wriggled down a bit on the bed to a more comfortable position.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his mind drifting.

"What for?" Athos asked.

"Making out I couldn't pronounce your horse's name. I was just being an arse."

Athos smiled. "I know."

"Why did you start calling him Roger then?"

"Just trying to keep the peace. Besides, I think it rather suits him, don't you?"

Porthos laughed, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. "Yeah," he said softly.

"Did you know he answers to it now? I think he likes it."

"Smart horse," Porthos murmured. 

"He likes you, you know," Athos said.

"Does he?"

"Yes. It's not everyone he'll let groom him. He nearly had someone's finger off once, it's why I'm wary of letting Fleur or Jacques work on him. But he was fine with you earlier."

When there was no reply, Athos looked down and smiled to find that Porthos was fast asleep. He drew the glass carefully out of his hand, and set it on the nightstand.

"Very smart horse," he said softly. 

\--

The next morning Porthos was confused to find himself wrapped in a duvet and sprawled in the middle of Athos' bed. 

Of Athos, there was no sign until Porthos found a note on the dressing table.

_Didn't like to wake you. Took your key, will sleep in your room. A._

Porthos groaned, feeling like an idiot. He swallowed a couple more pills and put on his shoes, going over to knock quietly on his own door.

Athos answered it fully dressed, holding a cup of coffee, and smiled at him. "Morning."

"Sorry." Porthos shook his head. "You should have turfed me out."

"Didn't seem fair. Besides, I slept perfectly well over here." Athos handed him the coffee cup and took the key to his room in exchange.

"Didn't fancy snuggling up beside me then?" Porthos grinned.

Athos leaned in the doorway and smiled at him with a spark of amusement. "I will confess to briefly considering it. But we've got a long day ahead, and I thought we'd both get a better night's sleep like this."

Across the corridor, Aramis' door opened and a young woman came out, giggling furtively. Aramis leaned out after her to kiss her goodbye, then looked up and saw them. He gave Porthos a stony look of disgust, and went back into his room, closing the door with a bang.

"Awkward," Athos smirked.

Porthos sighed. "Great. Now he thinks we're screwing."

"Not like he can talk," Athos pointed out. "Shouldn't he be saving his strength?"

Porthos laughed, grateful that Athos wasn't bothered by it. "It spurs him on, I think. See you at breakfast?"

\--

True to Porthos' prediction, Athos did indeed take top honours in the competition, and with Aramis placing individual second and Constance sweeping the board in the dressage event it was a triumphant team that headed home that evening.

Athos came up to Porthos in the carpark and took him aside. "If you want it, there's a place for you riding shotgun in the landie towing Roger's horsebox? There'd be more legroom," he offered. "You don't have to, if you'd rather be in the minibus with everyone else. I just thought it might be more comfortable."

Porthos stared at him in surprise, hardly knowing what to say. "That's very kind," he managed finally. "I think I'd rather come in the bus though?"

"Fine. Just an idea."

"Athos. Seriously. Thank you." Porthos was taken aback by the idea that in the midst of all the celebrations and congratulations he'd been at the centre of, Athos should have taken time to sort this out for him.

Athos just gave him a quick smile and a shrug, and walked off again. Porthos half-wished he'd taken Athos up on the offer just to make him happy. It seemed like he spent his whole time looking ungrateful for things sometimes, and Porthos felt guilty.

He knew he'd have a more fun time in the crowded minibus though, and managed to squeeze in on the end of a seat where he could stretch out one of his legs down the side. Athos was sitting in the front with Treville, and took little part in the festivities that were enacted all the way home.

\--

Stumbling out of the bus when they reached the stables just after midnight, Porthos headed for his car with legs that felt like lead. Around him people were calling goodnight to each other and driving off in a crunch of gravel, but it all seemed slightly muffled, and he had to blink to focus on the lock.

"Give me your keys." The quiet voice behind him made him jump.

"What?" He turned to find Athos standing there with his hand out. 

"Give me your keys. You can hardly stand, there's no way I'm letting you drive home in this state."

"Well I'll be sitting down again in a minute, won't I?" Porthos protested, feeling embarrassed. Everyone else was somehow okay to drive, despite being just as tired. He was sick of being the lame duck.

"Porthos, I mean it. Let me drive you home. Or - stay here with me. There's plenty of room."

Porthos wavered. He admitted to a certain curiosity when it came to seeing inside Athos' apartment. And he was exhausted to the point of shaking slightly, and there was little enough appeal in going home to an empty house.

Athos took his silence as surrender and slipped an arm through his. "Come on."

\--

Athos lived on the first floor of the barn conversion, above the conference room and kitchen facilities. Porthos had seen the space empty a couple of years ago, but had never been inside since Athos had been in residence. His furniture was sparse but ultra-modern, all glass and chrome and leather.

"Make yourself at home, I'll run you a bath," Athos said.

Porthos snorted. "I might be the resident cripple but I'm still capable of turning on my own taps."

"Very well." Athos conceded without rancour. "Drink, then?"

"How did I know you were going to say that," Porthos muttered ungraciously. He wandered off to the bathroom, slightly irritated that Athos was right in thinking it would ease the pain he was in. 

Some time later he was lying back in the steaming water when Athos knocked discreetly on the door and sidled in without waiting for an invitation.

"Jesus!" Porthos covered himself demurely with his hands, but Athos just laughed and set a glass of wine on the side of the bath for him.

"Sorry." He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, swirling the wine in his own glass. "I seem to screw up with everything I say to you, and I don't mean to," Athos said after a second.

Porthos relaxed a little, sighing. "No, I'm sorry. I told you, I'm terrible. I keep having a go at everyone whether they deserve it or not." 

He stared pensively down at his legs under the water. "Five metal pins in them, you know. It's a right bugger going through a metal detector."

Athos automatically looked over the side of the bath, and Porthos wished he hadn't drawn attention to them. He'd rather Athos stared at his wrinkly cock than his legs, which were covered in operation scars. 

"Not very pretty, huh?" he murmured.

"At least you're alive," Athos said distantly. He seemed preoccupied, but Porthos was stung by his words.

"And what would you know about it?" he snapped. "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me?" 

Thinking of the nights when he'd been at his lowest, and wished he hadn’t survived. The months of agonising therapy as he learnt to walk again. The feeling that suddenly there was no point to his life any more.

Athos, rather than snapping back, went pale and stood up. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'll leave you in peace."

He walked out and Porthos stared after him, his anger gone as soon as it had arisen. "Athos," he whispered contritely, but the door had already closed behind him.

\--

When Porthos emerged from the bath, he found Athos curled on the sofa with what was presumably at least a second glass of wine.

Porthos came over and sat next to him, setting his own half-drunk glass on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You're right, there's a lot I have to be grateful for." Hoping that it didn't sound bitter.

Athos looked at him then, and Porthos was startled by how upset he looked. 

"Athos?"

"I lost my brother," Athos said finally, after a pained silence. "He came off a horse. Was killed, instantly. So, I do know, a little, about what it feels like when someone doesn't make it out of an accident," he added under his breath.

Porthos stared at him in dismal contrition. "I'm so sorry," he said, feeling that was inadequate. "I didn't know."

Athos shook his head, managed a small smile. "I don't talk about it much."

"What happened?"

"He was a show jumper, like me. Better than me," Athos smiled, sadly. "He was out riding one day when his horse stumbled. He came off, landed badly. Broke his neck. Freak accident really, he could have fallen a hundred times and been fine. Nothing anyone could have done."

"What happened to the horse?" Porthos asked, morbidly curious.

Athos looked up. "Oh, he was fine. It was just a stumble." He smiled tightly. "He's downstairs, in fact. In the stable."

"Roger?" Porthos was startled. To think of Athos riding every day on his brother's horse. How that must hurt. How it would never let him forget.

Athos nodded. "No one else wanted him after that. But it wasn't his fault."

They stared at each other for a long moment in shared silent misery. 

Then something snapped and Porthos lunged forwards, kissing Athos fiercely on the mouth. To his relief, Athos kissed back immediately, and they clung to each other, kissing hard and desperately.

They ended up sprawled together along the length of the sofa, still kissing with a harsh, needy passion, not a word having been exchanged.

Porthos was half on top of Athos, could feel he was hard in his jeans, and kissed him again, all teeth and tongue and hunger. His own cock was rock hard, and Athos' breathy groans were driving him crazy.

"I want you," he muttered.

Athos just nodded and took his hand, leading him into the bedroom without a word. There they undressed with unseemly haste and fell into the bed, reaching for each other again with eager hands.

Their kisses were just as hard as before, and the feeling of each other's body, naked and aroused, spurred them on to even more passionate heights.

Athos produced condoms and lube from a drawer without fuss, and set about rolling one onto Porthos' cock. Neither of them were inclined to take things slowly, there was a feeling of desperation about it all that did nothing to lessen their arousal.

The only thing that had the potential to derail them was when Porthos tried to climb on top of Athos only for one of his legs to cramp.

"Ow! Fuck." He rolled onto his back cursing in frustration. 

Athos sat up and helped him massage the shooting pains away, until Porthos nodded in shaky thanks.

"Still want me?" Athos murmured, sliding his hand up the inside of Porthos' thigh towards his erection, which managed to be undiminished despite five minutes of agony.

"Fuck yes."

Athos smirked, and pushed Porthos down on the bed, crawling over him instead. He slicked Porthos up with another palmful of lube, and then reached between his own legs, using his slippery fingers to ease himself open.

Porthos lay there and watched him with his mouth hanging slightly open in dazed and wondering adoration. 

Taking hold of Porthos' cock, Athos shunted himself backwards onto the tip, slowly pushing down until the whole length of him was inside.

"Fuck," said Porthos in a tiny voice, thinking he'd never felt or seen anything quite so stunningly sexy.

"That's the idea," Athos whispered, and Porthos gave a sudden laugh, wrapping Athos in his arms and thrusting up into his body with an abrupt jerk of his hips.

Athos fell against him, moaning with approval, and for the next few minutes they fucked each other with a fast, punishing rhythm. 

At such a brutal pace neither of them could last long, and Porthos came with a sudden grunt of completion, a last slam into Athos' body making him lose it completely. Athos came moments later, his release a hot spurt of wetness between their bellies, spasming around Porthos' cock as he rode out his climax.

Afterwards Porthos could barely move. Athos cleaned them both up and climbed back in next to him, bringing Porthos fresh painkillers and a kiss of apology.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Porthos said with heartfelt satisfaction. "I needed that."

"So did I." Athos settled next to him with a sigh, and Porthos pulled him into his arms and kissed him.

Athos gave him a smile of slight surprise and Porthos looked enquiring. "What?"

"Nothing." Athos lay his head on Porthos' shoulder. "Just thought you might - never mind."

"What?" Porthos demanded again, wishing Athos wouldn't be so bloody vague all the time.

"That this might be just - scratching an itch."

"Is that all it is to you?" Porthos asked, aiming for the same level of neutrality and trying not to sound anxious. Why should Athos be interested in him after all, he thought miserably. He hadn't even managed one round of sex without writhing in agony.

Athos sat up again and looked at him silently for long enough that Porthos would have bolted if he'd thought for one minute he could stand up without collapsing. 

"No," said Athos finally. "It isn't. But I'll understand if you'd rather not pursue it."

Porthos gaped at him. "If _I_ wouldn't? Why wouldn't I?"

"You think I'm a patronising wanker who stole your place on the team," Athos pointed out. "Plus you think I'm moody and arrogant and that I drink too much."

"Well." Porthos closed his mouth. "Yes." He frowned. "But then I'm an irritable bastard with a chip on his shoulder and chronic pain issues, with more scars than a school desk."

"That's true." Athos' lips twitched. "Really then, the only sensible course of action would be to date each other, if only so we don't have to inflict ourselves on two other innocent members of the population."

Porthos stared. "Do you mean that?" he said finally in a small voice. "The dating thing, I mean?"

Athos slid his hand into Porthos' where it lay between them on the covers. "Do you know, I rather think I do. Besides, my horse likes you."

Porthos smiled at him a touch giddily. "Does that mean he thinks I'd offer you a stable relationship?"

Athos snorted with laughter. "Oh God. Terminal grumpiness I can cope with, I'm not sure I signed up for puns."

"Too late." Porthos kissed him, and was happy beyond measure when Athos kissed him back and settled into his arms. "You're saddled with me."

\--


End file.
